Behind Blue Eyes
by Sevroy
Summary: He was cold. He was calculating. But was he heartless? Arcade, Boone, Raul...Companions, or pawns? A series of unordered flashbacks from those who have interacted with the mysterious Courier, all leading up to a decision that must be made in the present.
1. Chapter 1

Boone did not know what to make of him.

Brandon, a few feet in front of Boone, walked across the Mojave Wasteland with Benny's "lucky" gun, Maria, in hand, Rex walking beside him. They had been walking for at least an hour now, heading towards Helios One for some unknown reason. Unknown to Boone, at least. Boone had never completely trusted Brandon, and the former courier didn't seem to trust him either. Not that either one of them actually trusted anyone. It was just that everything about the man seemed...off. Something always hid his eyes. His face was pale and resembled a skull. A hint of worry or anxiety never left Brandon's face, and he barely smiled or even smirked. He was able to gun down anything, whether it be a radscorpion or an unsuspecting chem addict, in cold blood, nothing on his face but that hint of worry. You didn't have to be paranoid to be suspicious of him.

But that was just on the outside. Boone had traveled with Brandon for a while, and had seen what the man was capable of. The courier had talked himself out of almost every situation he ended up in, and was able to lie without any kind of twitch or tell-tale sign. Most of the time, even Boone believed him. That was only of the things that made him untrustworthy, though. Brandon was a manipulator. A dangerous one. The NCR, House, and The Legion all thought he worked for them, and them alone. But he didn't. Boone knew better. Brandon helped people, but he didn't work for them. He didn't take orders from anyone, and whatever he did was done willingly. Boone knew that Brandon didn't agree with the views of any faction. So whenever the two of them came to an NCR-controlled location, Boone always kept his finger on the trigger. You never know. One second, Brandon might offer his help, and the next second he could shoot someone for no real reason, like at Gomorrah.

Gomorrah. No one ever forgot about Gomorrah.

Boone decided not to think about that, but there were some other things he remembered. Things like Fororn Hope, Vault 3, Bitter Springs...Wasn't sure what to think of that last one. What was Brandon thinking, bringing him there. Maybe it was his idea of a joke. Maybe he wasn't thinking at all. Tch.

Brandon checked the map on his Pip-Boy and looked back at the sniper, apparently checking to see if he was still there. Maybe Brandon was paranoid. That would've been a laugh.

Forlorn Hope...Vault 3...

Mojave Outpost.


	2. Chapter 2

It was hot. Hotter than usual. Boone didn't mind, since he was dressed in a simple shirt, pants, and his 1st Recon beret. Brandon was wearing considerably heavier and sweatier armor, a leather outfit that he had found somewhere. Although he didn't complain, Brandon had been frowning for most of the day and kept wiping the sweat off his brow, careful not to bother his sunglasses.

The two of them were walking to Mojave Outpost, for some reason only Brandon knew. Boone didn't see any reason to pry, so he kept quiet, as always. It had been a while since he had seen anything affiliated with the NCR besides his beret, and as far as he knew, Brandon wasn't an enemy of the NCR.

Boone kept his finger on the trigger just in case.

Eventually, the two of them made it after spotting the large statues that marked the entrance of the Mojave Outpost. Once there, Brandon walked straight into the biggest building there, probably the administrative area. Boone followed, and found Brandon talking to someone at the front desk. Boone looked around. People were glancing at him and Brandon, some making comments like "I wish I had a First Recon guy look after me." Boone said nothing. He wasn't the kind of guy that cared about compliments.

"I'd like to talk to you about Primm." Boone glanced at the front desk. Brandon's voice was as flat and monotone as ever.

"Primm? Hayes' unit is stationed up there, were having problems with some of the NCRCF convicts. What can I help you with?"

"Hayes is undermanned and is requesting some additional support." From behind his black, opaque sunglasses Brandon stared straight at the NCR officer, who groaned.

"I'd like to help", the NCR office begrudgingly admitted, "But we can't spare any more units. We have to obtain a minimum headcount at the Outpost, orders from the West."

"Having Primm - and the trade route - under NCR control would help the West." Boone was surprised. He didn't think of that.

Major Knight smiled. "I see the wisdom in that. I'll radio for a unit to head up to Primm and offer some additional support." Boone looked at Brandon. No emotion on his face. Nothing but that hint of worry. If he was worried though, his deadpan voice certainly didn't show it. Brandon asked if there was anything he could do to help, and he and Boone were directed towards Ranger Jackson. Eventually, the two wanderers were on the road again, this time at night, doing what Jackson asked them to: Kill the giant pests antagonizing the caravans.

Boone shot the last ant, which along with the rest of the bugs hadn't given him or Brandon much trouble. Reloading his scoped rifle, he spoke.

"Primm already has a sheriff."

Brandon didn't turn his head. "Yes."

"Why send NCR over there?"

The former courier sighed, reloading his 10mm pistol. "The citizens of Primm had been taken hostage before, so they're obviously not capable of defending themselves. The NCR stationed there had been too cowardly to do fulfill their duty, supposedly hindered by their lack of men. Now that additional troops will be there, Primm will be further protected and the cowards will have no excuse for doing their duty when the time comes."

_When?_ Boone didn't like that. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that raiders and the such will attack Primm eventually. It is best for the inhabitants to be prepared for such an occasion."

"You realize that the NCR aren't for the people, right?" It was true. On many of his missions or visits to NCR-controlled locations, he saw that the NCR had heavy taxes and fees. Heavier than necessary.

"I will work that out later, then. For now though, we should report back to Ranger Jackson." Boone nodded and the two of them walked back to the base. Along the way, Boone asked another question.

"What if the troops don't 'fulfill their duty'?"

"Then I will have to kill them."

Boone quickly raised his rifle to the back of Brandon's head. Silence for 10 seconds or so. The tension grew.

"Kill them? You're working for Caesar's Legion, aren't you? You son of a -"

"Now now. Do not rush to such extreme conclusions. I am not really going to kill them." Brandon turned around, the rifle barrel now touching his forehead, which was lacking sweat. No sweat, no tears, no nervousness, nothing. Only that usual hint of worry. "I simply wanted to see what your opinion of such an action would have been. Obviously, it is negative." Brandon gently lowered the gun with his hand, staring at Boone. "Don't worry. I will not kill any NCR soldiers unless they give me good reason to. I do not tolerate incompetence." With that, Brandon walked back to the Mojave Outpost, with a stunned, silent, and now suspicious Boone following him.


	3. Chapter 3

"Arcade, behind you!"

Arcade turned around, yelled in surprise, and frantically pressed the trigger on his 10mm pistol until he heard a thud. A Cazador lay before him, now full of bullet holes. He and Brandon had stumbled onto a nest full of the despicable things, and there were still some more. After taking a breath, Arcade turned to the last couple of venomous monsters and shot at them, missing about a fourth of the time. Brandon, however, was significantly more accurate and decimated the enemies with his plasma rifle. When there were no more left, Arcade breathed heavily, exhausted, and looked at his companion.

"Not to sound lazy, but we've been walking for at least 3 hours now, and the cazadors weren't the only things we've had to fight along the way. Although it may surprise you, i'm not superhuman, and neither are you, so I think we should take a rest."

Arcade continued to gasp and had to resist reaching for his last bottle of purified water. They really had been walking for a while, not taking any rest-stops on the way, of course. The heavy and pointy metal armor he was wearing didn't help either, and it uncomfortably reminded him of a certain group of people...He would have loved to take it off, even for a little while. Brandon was wearing NCR patrol armor, which looked much lighter and just as, maybe even more efficient at making sure that the wearer didn't die of bullet penetration. Brandon stared at Arcade for a second, looked around, looked back at Arcade, and shook his head.

"We're too close to take a detour. Wait until we get there or pray that there's a gas station nearby with a bed in it." Brandon looked at the sun falling over the horizon. "The latter is preferred." Arcade made a sigh of exasperation, but didn't say much else besides "Sure.". To be fair, Brandon had been pretty compliant to most of his requests so far. But Camp McCarran wasn't very close.

It had been a pretty great day. Life-threatening battles, starvation, dehydration, the works. After all, there wasn't anything wrong with that, no, nothing at all. At least, that's what Arcade thought was going through Brandon's head. Besides the occasional yell of "Behind you", Brandon hadn't said much, and seemed to actually provoke the various creatures across the Mojave Wasteland on purpose. Maybe tagging along with the guy had been a bad idea. Then again, there was no telling of-

BARK BARK BARK

Arcade raised his eyebrow and looked around. Was that a-

BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK

It was! And that person. Was that a fiend? What was she doing-

A glob of energy flew past Arcade's head, prompting the researcher to stop thinking and move! He raised his gun and shot at the several dogs, big dogs, running towards him. He got some of them, but one jumped and opened his mouth, about to bite into his flesh. Arcade tried to swat the dog away with his arm, but it was too late. Arcade closed his eyes...Only to feel nothing. He opened his eyes and saw the dog trying to bite through his metal armor, but to no avail. Quickly, Arcade raised his gun to the dog's head and fired. Blood and brains scattered everywhere, even on his face. While he was wiping the blood off of his face, he heard the sound of energy weapons exchanging fire, and then a shriek. Thud. Spitting out a brain piece or two that had gotten into his mouth, Arcade looked at the figure ahead. It was Brandon, plasma rifle in hand. Seeing that all of the dogs were somehow dead via his own sub par shooting, Arcade said "Huh." and walked up to Brandon.

"Well, that was a very pleasant surprise. I didn't know that we were this close to Fiend territory. So, do we keep walking or-" SPLAT.

Arcade looked down and his jaw fell. He had stepped on the neck of the lady Fiend and now there was even more blood and guts on his armor, specifically his shoe. Better yet, the now decapitated head of the lady fiend stared right at him with her dead eyes almost and mouth wide open in a final expression of shock. Despite the fact that he was more realistic than his fellow colleagues at the Old Mormon Fort, Arcade almost threw up a little in his mouth.

"Ugh, did I? I.." The little vomit in Arcade's mouth came out with a retching sound, as Arcade bent over to do so. After a little while, he stood back up and looked at Brandon.

"Okay...Let's pretend that never happened, shall we? I'm usually not that...affected by things out here in the wastes. I know i'm bad at medical practices, but I usually don't step on people's...necks." Arcade stared at the ground and saw something that caused him to cross his arms, raise his eyebrow, and look at Brandon with a mixed look of both astonishment and skepticism.

"Brandon. Where's the head?"

"In my inventory. Why do you ask?"

"You put the head of your enemy in your inventory? Wh.."

"She had a pack of dogs. She is the first and probably only Fiend I have ever seen with a pack of animals, so I thought that I should store her head, just in case. Someone could want it. Also, the decapitation you performed made it rather convenient to store in my inventory."

Arcade was somehow both disgusted and confused by the behavior and logic of the man who he had agreed to travel the wastes with. Arcade closed his eyes, put his fingers to his hand to his forehead, sighed, and looked at Brandon.

"How far away is Camp McCarran?" Brandon looked at his Pip-Boy and then back at Arcade.

"Not long. However, there is no telling of whether or not more Fiends will attack us. Do not be caught off guard."

Brandon turned around and walked towards Camp McCarran, with Arcade following him and watching out for Fiends. While doing so, Arcade remembered Boone. He wondered if that guy was just as odd as this one. No, probably not...But was that Boone said? Something about...Gomorrah. Yeah, that was it. ...Nah. Arcade shook his head, still thinking to himself. Probably nothing.

Wait, no. There was something else. Bitter Springs. What exactly had happened there...? He remembered an NCR soldier talking about it once, and when he mentioned it to Boone, all he got was a frown and a "Don't ever say that again." Arcade wondered...Boone probably knew...


	4. Chapter 4

Mountains. Good for snipers. Good for spies. Good for hiding supplies, or just hiding. Bad for walking.

Boone grabbed a ledge and pulled up. He didn't mind climbing. He was, or, used to be 1st Recon, after all. When you're a sniper, you have to get a good view. Boone climbed as naturally as he walked. Brandon, on the other hand, was not as good at climbing. He wasn't terrible at it, but he obviously didn't like it. The frown on his face. The occasional grunt.

Boone didn't know where they were going. Brandon usually didn't tell him. That wasn't a good sign. For all he knew, Brandon could have been leading him into a trap. Any moment, they could turn their guns on each other. So far though, Brandon hadn't done either of those things. Boone couldn't say the same for himself. Mojave Outpost came forward in Boone's thoughts, and a fist was the first thing he could remember...

* * *

The two wanderers stared at each other. It had only taken half an hour for more tension to rise between the two. Boone's fist clenched.

"Tell me you killed them."

"I did not."

Now Boone's teeth clenched, and his fist was almost trembling. He spoke in a strained voice, resisting the urge to punch the man in front of him.

"Why not?"

Brandon spoke in a smooth and calm voice.

"Because I want to destroy the Legion."

Boone looked at him. For the second time that day, he was confused.

"What?"

"Caesar's Legion. I wish to dismantle it. Like you, I want to make sure that it is wiped off from the face of the Earth."

A few minutes ago, after reporting to Ranger Jackson, Brandon had been talking to Ranger Ghost. Boone listened closely, and kept an eye on the pistol at the former courier's side. Ranger Ghost had asked Brandon if he could find out what happened at Nipton. He said he had already been there. What Brandon had said next had shocked both Ghost and Boone.

"The Legion killed everyone there."

This worried Ranger Ghost because of how close the Legion were getting, and yet all she could do was sit there and watch. Boone, however, had another reason for being worried. Brandon had not said what he had done to the Legionaries there. After walking back down the ramp, Boone had confronted him, leading to...

"You're going to gain their trust?"

"We cannot simply go up to their army and attack them head-on. I will infiltrate their faction and then betray them when the time is right. This way, there will be no chance of failure."

Boone saw the logic in Brandon's plan, but he would rather kill every Legionary he saw. There wasn't anything else to say though, so Boone just stopped talking, besides one last thing.

"Lead the way."

* * *

They were almost there. Boone put his hand on one of the peaks for support as he climbed up to the top. He went up and stepped onto the top of the mountain, about to-

No.

Boone stared at the sight before him. It couldn't be.

Brandon climbed up and stood next to Boone, both of them overlooking the small settlement below them. It was made up of small tents, one or two small buildings, and a couple of campfires. An upside-down NCR flag was flown in the settlement, and Boone, seemingly stricken, continued to stare at the sight with eyes wide-open. Bitter Springs.

Bitter Springs. Old memories that he had tried to forget came back in vivid detail. He had not forgotten anything.

Bitter Springs. Boone quickly turned towards Brandon and slammed his fist into the side of the man's face. He heard something that was a mix of a grunt and a yell, and saw Brandon roll down the side of the mountain facing Bitter Springs. The former courier had been trying to get inside his head ever since they had met, and now he had gone too far. Brandon knew that Boone had an aversion to this place. That he had memories of it.

Boone shut his eyes as one of those memories, painful and red, came to mind. And then another one...

Brandon opened his eyes, and saw Boone standing over him. Boone looked down at him, the usual frown on his face. There was no expression on Brandon's face besides that hint of worry, which had become indiscernible to Boone by this point. Amazingly, Brandon's sunglasses had managed to stay on Brandon's face despite what he had just gone through. Silence managed to stay in the air for an eternal minute or two. Boone managed to speak in his usual flat voice.

"I don't know why you brought me here. If this is your idea of pity or some kind of 'quest' to make me redeem myself, I told you: That part of my life is over."

Brandon looked at him, his face still mostly blank. Boone's punch had left a bruise on the side of his face. As far as Boone could tell, there wasn't any emotion in the man's voice.

"This is the closest friendly location that I know of. I know that you and that NCR did something here. Something curious." Brandon raised himself up on one elbow as he spoke, and then stood up. He seemed to analyze Boone from behind his opaque sunglasses, and continued explaining. "However, I did not come here to see your reaction. I came here to see if there was any way I could repair the damage."

Boone said nothing. Although this could have been the closest resting place, he didn't completely believe what else Brandon had said. The former courier had been trying to get inside his head from day one. This would have been a good way to do so. Also, although Brandon did have a habit of helping out whoever needed it, Boone doubted that he did so without compensation. Boone looked at the settlement again. It seemed raggedy and disheveled. Brandon wouldn't get paid here, and Boone knew that Brandon was smart enough to figure that out. There had to be something else he was looking for. The two of them climbed down the mountainside, planning to go to the main building. Boone had too many memories of Bitter Springs. And he didn't want to make any more.


	5. Chapter 5

Boone was surprised. And confused. It seemed that ever since he had partnered up with Brandon, he had been confused.

Boone didn't know why Brandon had gone to Bitter Springs. He said that it had nothing to do with Boone, and maybe it didn't. But apparently, it didn't have anything to do with a reward either. The two of them had been climbing up more mountains and killing more creatures to find supplies for the dying settlement. Brandon had actually been attacked by a Khan that had holed up in one of the caves, although the Khan didn't live for much longer. Not only did they find supplies, but Brandon had actually given some of his and Boone's supplies to the doctor of Bitter Springs. Boone had said nothing. He couldn't have protested. It wouldn't have been right. And Brandon knew that. He also knew that the Crimson Caravan was almost on the other side of the Mojave Wasteland. But they had walked there and back anyway to get medical books for the doctor. The path hadn't been safe either. Boone didn't complain about having to do all of this, but he wondered why Brandon thought it was necessary to help Bitter Springs.

Despite traveling with him all over the Mojave, Boone didn't know much about Brandon's personality. As far as Boone could tell, Brandon had no personality. He would be kind when he needed to be and would kill when necessary, and without any hesitation. The former courier wasn't against the occasional threat or intimidation tactic either. Whenever the two of them had to talk to each other, Brandon would usually speak like a robot. Monotone and in a formal manner without contractions. Boone wasn't sure if that was his real personality though. If it was, then Brandon really wouldn't have his own personality; he would just become whatever he needed to be. If that wasn't Brandon's real personality, then Boone didn't think that he would see it anytime soon.

Maybe he never would.

Bitter Springs needed a lot of help. Brandon was asked to gather reinforcements from three other NCR camps, all of which had their own problems to deal with. The first one they visited was Camp Golf, which was basically 2 lines of regular tents and one big tent at the end. Eventually and predictably, the two of them had been asked to shape up the Misfits, which the sergeant described as useless and lazy soldiers. Boone had seen a couple of those back when he was 1st Recon. NCR troops that didn't do anything but complain. He didn't like them.

Brandon and Boone walked into the Misfit's tent around the middle of the day. There were 4 of them, and none of them were doing any actual work. Brandon talked to each Misfit, each of whom had their own ideas for the group.

"Shape our marksmanship and explosives skill."

"If you hack the system, you could alter our records."

"A healthy dose of angry juice."

Brandon frowned at that option.

"A little more basic human niceness."

Boone almost raised his eyebrows. That was the only time he had heard an NCR trooper say something like that and apparently, that was also the first time Brandon had heard that.

"Human niceness?" Boone could hear the curiosity - and skepticism - in his voice. O'Hanrahan didn't seem to notice though.

"That's right. Folks just don't talk to other folks, and everybody's always cross with each other."

"So you think I should find ways to convince the Misfits to get along?" Brandon's voice returned to normal.

"That'd be swell. Only, if they knew the idea came from me, they probably wouldn't take you serious no more, so maybe you oughta think about it first. And I sure hope you're more convincing than I am, or they ain't gonna listen."

Brandon immediately agreed, but he didn't show any eagerness. Boone knew that Brandon was a smooth talker, so this probably was the best choice for him. He wondered what the former courier would say. The closest Misfit was Razz, the former Fiend who thought that using Psycho was a good plan. He sat on a chair behind a table outside.

"Know anything about your squadmates?" Brandon's voice was monotone and he was staring right at the trooper before him. From the honest answer Razz gave him,, it was obvious that he didn't think much of his squadmates.

"...well, Mags is cut out for something other than soldiering, you dig?"

Brandon frowned and spit on Razz's face. With a yell, Razz was about to get up before Brandon slammed his hands onto the table. Razz cringed and Brandon continued to stare into the trooper's eyes, his own hidden eyes piercing daggers into him.

"That's charming. It's good to know team-building is alive and well." His voice was steely, cold, and had an edge to it.

The defiance in Razz's eyes died out, and he looked down and spoke with a defeated, submissive tone.

"Maybe you're right. Guess I oughta give them a shot."

Boone was surprised. It wasn't easy to get away with spitting on a Fiend's face, former or not. That was been the first time Boone had heard Brandon say something in that tone, and just now he realized that even against enemies, his partner hadn't said something like that. It had always been an emotionless, uncaring tone.

The next one was Poindexter. "Are you in charge around here?", Brandon asked in a formal voice. The response had been prideful.

"In a strictly official capacity, no. However, as I am by far the most intelligent and resourceful figure on this base, I feel its safe to say the soldiers look up to me."

Unlike before, Brandon kept talking in a formal voice.

"Since you are so respected , perhaps you can help get this unit into shape."

Poindexter's eyes slightly widened in surprise, but returned to normal before he replied.

"Hmm, you're trying to appeal to my ego. I must admit its an effective tactic. Alright - I'll help. But only because I want to see if its even possible." Brandon didn't seem to mind that last part, and he went straight to Mags. After asking a few questions, Brandon got to the point. His tone was less formal now, but still monotone.

"Sounds like you aren't too fond of your squadmates."

"Yeah. I mean, no, they're okay people, but they don't care, y'know? They don't have any ambition. No drive. They're slacking off, and that reflects badly on me."

"Well, maybe if you tried to lead by example instead of tearing them down..." Mags was as surprised as Poindexter was at Brandon's response.

"You really think so? I guess it's worth a shot." Boone was impressed. Brandon knew how to get people to do what he wanted and right now, he wanted teamwork. They reported back to a happy O'Hanrahan. Brandon had finished his job. Now it was time to move on to the next camp. The former courier looked at the map on his Pip-Boy and walked away, heading towards Camp Forlorn Hope next, with Boone following him.

* * *

Brandon and Boone had been walking in a straight line for hours. Occasionally, Brandon would take a break, but besides killing Fiends and radscorpions, nothing happened. It was silent...

It was night. The two of them were still walking in silence, but there was something that Boone wanted to point out.

"Whatever happened to human niceness?" His voice had a tinge of sarcasm, but he wasn't criticizing Brandon; he knew that being nice wasn't always smart. But Brandon had been so accepting of the idea earlier that Boone just wanted to know if he really agreed with it. He knew that he probably didn't, judging by his lack of hesitation to gun down enemies. But he had to make sure. Brandon kept walking, as did Boone, and Brandon turned his head towards Boone for a moment, as if acknowledging his presence, and then kept looking forward.

"Reality happened. Human niceness, however good it may seem, is simply a euphemism for naiveté. It is unwise to apply such a thing in this cruel world, for doing so results in abuse and death."

"Then what happened at Bitter Springs?"

"That was diplomacy. That was convincing four NCR troopers to work together. That was making sure that the best possible outcome is achieved."

The best possible outcome? That was one way to put it.

"Humans are not nice by nature. They are savage and self-serving. You should know that."

That implied a lot of things, but Boone wasn't going to ask him what he was actually implying. It was night, they were both tired, and there were no settlements nearby. They kept walking.


	6. Chapter 6

It was dark, it was cold, and it was tense. It was another night looking for a bounty. Arcade tried to walk as quietly as he could, with Brandon walking in front of him as always. Tonight, Brandon had decided that there was nothing wrong with hunting down a murderous rapist surrounded by just as murderous Fiends. Arcade had tagged along with mixed feelings. Contrary to the former courier's belief, hunting down Fiends in the dead of night with anything less than a real group of soldiers usually wasn't a good idea. With Brandon though, it usually was. At least, there wasn't as much danger.

Arcade continued to sneak with Brandon. He had seen what Brandon could do. Brandon stopped. He heard something, and Arcade could hear it too. Talking. Laughing. The sound of a fire. The two of them hid behind the closest piece of rubble. Arcade had seen how Brandon didn't hesitate to do the sensible thing. He saw how Brandon was never as worried as he should have been. That permanent expression on his face didn't count; after days of traveling with him, Arcade could no longer differentiate that emotion from his actual face. Brandon looked over the rubble. He came back down and nodded. The Fiends were there. Arcade looked over the rubble, 10mm pistol in hand. He could see a fire and a couple of scrawny Fiends sitting around it. They were eating food and talking about something. It didn't matter. Brandon stood up and unleashed a rain of plasma onto his enemies. All heck broke loose. Brandon managed to get two by surprise, one of them disintegrating into a pile of purple ash. The other two fired back, lasers flying through the air. Arcade tried to get in a good shot, but mainly resorted to blind fire, hiding behind the cover. Eventually though, he was the only one behind the rubble. Brandon was moving and running from cover to cover, only firing energy when he had a sure shot. He was stingy like that. Arcade had noticed. An actual personality trait.

Arcade got up and aimed down his sights, one eye closed so he could aim better. He fired off a couple of shots, the first of which had missed but the rest had found their place in a Fiend's torso. A body fell onto the floor. He went back down behind cover to reload his gun, but he dropped it and was in the air. He fell onto his back on the ground and saw something pointed at him. It was a...nozzle. Arcade's eyes widened and he rolled out of the way, narrowly dodging a stream of fire. He stumbled up and hid behind a different cover. He had been thrown and almost burnt to a crisp by a Fiend he hadn't seen before, a Fiend with a metal mask on his face and a giant flamethrower in his hands. It was Cook-Cook. He hadn't been sitting around the campfire, he had probably been cooking food but that wasn't important right now. What was important was surviving. Arcade managed to actually reload his gun and fired a couple of shots in Cook-Cook's direction before running to another pile of rubble for cover. He couldn't stay in the Fiend's sight for long or he would -

GAAACK

Arcade jumped. That didn't sound good. He looked over his cover and almost didn't expect what he saw. Almost. Brandon was stabbing the back of Cook-Cook's neck with a knife, the victim choking on his own blood and his weapon dropped. The large Fiend turned around, trying to swat Brandon away, only for the former courier to duck and send another pack of stabs into the rapist's big belly. Blood spilled onto the sand and Cook-Cook could no longer fight. He grabbed Brandon's arm, but let go and fell onto the floor with a loud thud.

Arcade walked away from the cover and towards the body, his pistol raised. It was then that he noticed the dead bodies around him. Had Brandon done this while Arcade was escaping Cook-Cook? Maybe. The doctor had not exactly been concentrating on the sound of plasma fire while rolling for his life. He got closer. Cook-Cook was still breathing. Arcade pointed his gun at the rapist, only to hear Brandon's voice.

"No. Don't waste the bullet."

Arcade looked at Brandon. "Are we just going to wait for him to die?" he asked. True, they didn't exactly have a large amount of ammunition but -

"Of course not. That would waste time." Brandon knelt down, knife in his hand. He took the metal mask off of Cook-Cook. The man was scared, that was for sure. There was something like fear in his eyes, and he was breathing in short and rapid bursts. All he and Arcade could do was watch Brandon and his weapon. There had been no emotion on Brandon's face when he had introduced himself to Arcade. There was no emotion on Brandon's face when he hacked away at Cook-Cook's throat. He did not chop it off with one quick and clean blow. He used the knife like a saw, and screams filled the air; screams that turned into gurgles of blood. Arcade wasn't surprised by the blood; he saw a lot of that in his life. What shocked him was Brandon's unnecessarily slow execution of Cook-Cook. Soon, the gurgling stopped. The Fiend's head was separated from his body, and Brandon stored it in his inventory. Arcade looked at Brandon and although he tried to speak in his usual sarcastic tone, fear and shock found its way in.

"What was that?"

"That was effective time and ammunition management." Brandon replied with no hint of joking in his voice. He took the food on the shelves near the campfire, leaving Arcade to comprehend his answer.

"We got what we wanted. We should go back to Camp McCarran." Brandon was done taking all of the least irradiated food and stuffing it into their inventory. The bounty. Arcade frowned, and spoke up.

"You didn't do it for the bounty, did you?"

"Hm?"

"The mutilation that I just saw. Was that for Betsy?"

"Betsy was not the only victim of his attacks. In fact, each of these Fiends have probably killed and perhaps raped at least one or two people. Unfortunately, I am not able to exact a fittingly excruciating fate onto these dogs. With Cook-Cook, I was."

Arcade didn't' like what he was implying. "Are you saying that you want to do this on every Fiend you see?" He didn't like Brandon's answer. "Yes and no. I do not want to do it on just the Fiends. Countless raiders and criminals are roaming this wasteland. I would like to see to it that they are punished for their crimes."

"And you shouldn't be?" The fear had left the doctor's voice and was now back to its usual sardonic tone.

"No. I realize how hypocritical that may sound to you, but what I am doing is for the better of others. They," Brandon motioned to the carcasses around them, "were only working to indulge in their own sinful desires, regardless of cost. Now then, we should leave. Even with the fireplace, ambush and death is too probable here. That was proven by us." Brandon looked at his Pip-Boy for directions and walked off in a certain direction, with Arcade not following him until a few minutes later.

* * *

When Arcade and Brandon had first arrived at Camp McCarran, Brandon had made a memorable impression. When he heard about the bounties, he took out Violetta's head and held it in his hand by the hair. Nearby NCR troopers had managed to be mortified and relieved at the same time. Probably because that had been the first time that Brandon had heard of bounties.

"Normally I would question you for collecting people's heads, but I think that for now, we can let slide." Admiral Dharti had certainly been concerned for Brandon's mannerisms, but he still let them walk around camp. As they had done so, Arcade eventually found himself hearing Brandon talk to a female NCR trooper, Betsy. He and Brandon later found out from her squadmates that Betsy had been one of Cook-Cook's victims, and that the incident had affected the whole team.

Not long after, Brandon had chosen which bounty to go after first.

* * *

"Corporal Betsy."

The woman turned her head to the voice.

"Yeah yeah, what is it?"

"Cook-Cook's dead."

Betsy's eyebrows were raised.

"Really? That's great. I had been thinking of all these revenge fantasies, but I guess they're worthless now. Here." Betsy gave Brandon some NCR dollars, which were quickly stuffed into his pockets.

"You should get medical help for your trauma." Brandon suggested although there was no compassion, pity, or sympathy in his voice. Betsy looked up at him. "The Lieutenant's been talking to you, hasn't he? Look, I don't a head doctor - I'm First Recon, got it?" Brandon looked at her for a second and replied. "The trauma makes you the weak link in your squad. You should see Dr. Usanaugi for the benefit of the team." Betsy stared at him and eventually sighed. "Really? Well, all right. Consider me convinced. I'll go see Usanaugi. You can the Lieutenant that I caved." Brandon began to leave. "Oh, and...Thanks." Brandon stopped walking for a bit, but moved on.

* * *

"It was nice of you to do that for Betsy. I'm sure that she needed it." Arcade had not forgotten about Brandon's act of kindness that he had displayed the other day. They were hunting the last bounty now, Driver Nelphi. Arcade wondered what would happen this time. Brandon didn't look at his companion as he spoke.

"I felt that it would have been unnecessarily cruel to leave her in such a state. And as I said, it is also for the benefit of her team."

Arcade thought about what had happened. The execution and Betsy. Then he thought about Brandon. What was going on in that man's head...?


	7. Chapter 7

"Sorry to keep you waiting."

Brandon slightly turned his head, glancing at Boone and acknowledging his presence. It was night in the Mojave Wasteland, with a cold wind finding its way towards the two wanderers. They had been walking for a while now. There weren't any buildings or even caves in sight; just big rocks and hills made of big rocks. With no shelter and little food, Boone thought, it was better to search for those things than to sleep without them. Thankfully, they hadn't come across any raiders recently. Besides the occasional radscorpion, it had been a silent day. The night wasn't any more talkative; the only sounds were footsteps, grunts, and the wind.

Boone had just gone on top of a hill and looked around, him being much more perceptive than Brandon was. At least, that's what Boone thought. He decided not to dwell on it. Nourishment was more important right now. Seeing nothing, he told Brandon to keep moving. The former courier complied and walked off in a vague, undetermined direction. He looked back at his Pip-boy from time to time, but he kept taking seemingly random turns in direction. Although it never got to the point of walking in the opposite direction, it was clear that Brandon didn't have a complete idea of where they were going. For now, they were going straight ahead.

* * *

A while later, nothing happened. No animals. No raiders. Nothing but the stars.

"...Boone."

Boone glanced at him.

"Yeah?"

"...Have you ever been to New Vegas before?"

"Is that where we're heading?" Moments later, Brandon replied with "Perhaps."

Boone said nothing for bit, but spoke up eventually. "Its a happy place. People do whatever they want there. If you're lucky, you get stationed there, where you can waste all your money and get drunk in public."

"...I see." Brandon had been taking a while on his replies. They were all delayed. Boone decided not to continue the conversation, unlike Brandon. "...Have you ever been stationed there?" Boone shook his head. "No." Brandon stayed quiet.

Boone looked at Brandon. The man seemed normal, but Boone saw him fumbling and jerking his head up from time to time. Something was wrong, but seeing how the former courier had not complained yet, Boone decided not to prod.

It wasn't until Boone stopped hearing Brandon's footsteps that he changed his mind.

Brandon had been in front of Boone the whole time, leading the way to New Vegas, maybe. His walk had slowed to the point that Brandon was just dragging his feet. "Brandon?" The courier continued to drag his feet, his head hung down and his arms limp. Then Brandon fell over. Boone walked over, his cold nature negating any outbursts of surprise. He just needed some food. The two of them had agreed to divide their food supply into two parts so that each could decide what to do with their own. Boone had set a pace and ate just enough of the food at the right times so that he would have a good amount of energy. He hadn't seen Brandon eat any of his yet though. Must have been trying to save it for as long as possible. Stubborn.

Boone could still hear Brandon's breathing. The sniper looked into the former courier's inventory since he himself had already eaten all of his food. There hadn't been much to begin with.

Boone stopped. There wasn't any food in Brandon's inventory. Nothing. After a moment of puzzlement, Boone remembered that Brandon had been the one who had "divided" the food supply. And he never saw Brandon eat any of his portion...Boone looked at his own pack. He sighed, muttering a curse under his breath, and pulled Brandon up and flung the former courier's arm over his shoulder.

* * *

Boone didn't know how long he had been carrying the man. It was still night, but that was all he knew. The wasteland remained the same, rocks and more rocks, and even with his excellent perception he couldn't see too far in the dark. Still, he had to go on. He had to find food. Water. Anything. He could still hear Brandon breathing. How long had the former courier been out? Minutes? Hours? Was he unconscious or asleep? Boone thought. Probably asleep...if he was lucky. There weren't any creatures or raiders around. Good. But still, there wasn't anything around except for rocks.

He saw a large cluster of rocks and decided that he had no choice. He laid Brandon down on the ground near the cluster and climbed up. It was dark and he was tired. But maybe... Boone put his hand on the last rock and pulled up. He was at the top of the hill, and the view was surprising.

In the not so far distance, light set the night on fire, one tower in particular piercing the dark sky with its light. It illuminated a good amount of land, and showed Boone the large lake almost directly below him. He rushed back down the hill and picked Brandon up.

* * *

Brandon sat up with a start, for Boone had just splashed cold water onto his face for the second time. After a moment of disorientation, the former courier stumbled towards the lake and wildly cupped the water with his hands and poured into his mouth as quickly and as many time as he could. This only lasted for less than a minute but nevertheless, for the tiniest instant Boone saw in Brandon what he saw in countless other people: The primal instinct to survive. After calmly pouring another scoop of water into his mouth, Brandon sighed with content. No, not content. Not a happy sigh. Plain satisfaction fit better. Boone looked at the man before him and remembered what happened when Brandon had fallen. He thought about asking him about it, but he knew what had happened. The former courier had never divided the food supply; he had given it all to Boone. But what were his reasons? Probably not kindness, he doubted that Brandon was that kind of guy. Then why? Because he knew that Boone was stronger? Because he knew that Boone would have been able to carry him until they found shelter? It was all tactics with this guy.

Brandon stood up and seemed to notice the lights for the first time. Still staring at them, with his back turned to Boone, he spoke.

"New Vegas."


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry about not posting a chapter in a long while and sorry for coming back with such a short chapter. I'll try to be more frequent in posting...after my little ten-day getaway of course.

* * *

It wasn't a pretty sight. But then again, death never was. It didn't smell good either. The stench of feces and vomit, rotting bodies, it was everywhere. All over the rusted walls, bloodied floors, and mutilated bodies scattered across the insides of what was left of Vault 3.

Silence. No sounds, no more groaning, no crying, no talking. Just silence. It hadn't always been like that. A few minutes ago, it had been loud. Warnings and pleas had been screamed at the top of their lungs. War-cries and threats had made and the roars of both guns and men had been the sick, twisted background music for what had happened. But not now. Now, there was silence.

He held a chainsaw in his hand. He had taken it from the leader of this place, the leader of the Fiends. It had whirred constantly in the fight, in the massacre, but now it said nothing, just like its wielder, who was also just as bloodied. The once brown armor and pale skin was covered with the crimson substance, but he didn't seem to mind. There wasn't any emotion on his face except for that permanent trace of worry. He just didn't want any of it in his mouth. His companion looked around at the bodies, the countless bodies, all of them staring ahead with dead eyes, some bloodshot. It was their blood that had been spilt, their blood that they had spread across the structure, their blood that was now on their conscience. He had killed people before. He wasn't traumatized, he wasn't wailing, he understood everything. He understood what had just happened and what it meant. He understood that he had just assisted Brandon in what could only be described as a massacre. The only thing he didn't understand was the person who he had assisted.

The assistant wasn't completely stonehearted. Even he had a conscience, and although it didn't tear at him, he felt as if it was just staring at him with sad, unbelieving eyes. Like a few of the bodies. He didn't pity them. They had always lived up to their namesake, they had to be stopped. But he didn't know that he would have to be the one to do it. It didn't fill him up with misery or regret. But it didn't satisfy his sense of justice either. He looked at the man across from him, who looked at him in turn. The color crimson was messily splattered on his face, and yet no emotion. He felt as if a demon was staring at him and he almost turned away. But instead, the demon spoke.

"You aren't going to deny that this was necessary, are you?"

The one Brandon spoke to responded with just as much emotion as he had in his voice.

"No. I know what they would have done."

Brandon nodded. "Good. I had hoped so. The reason I brought you is because I knew you'd understand. If I had brought him instead, he would be holding a gun up to my head right now." His companion resisted the urge to do so. He knew that it had been right to kill them...if they hadn't done it, the Fiends would have ruined even more lives. Still, it wasn't that that bothered him, or at least, not as much. It was still Brandon.

"...Still. Not a lot of people would do something like this. I know that you think its right. A lot of people think its right. I think its right. But you're the only one I know who would actually choose to kill them yourself.", the companion said with a tinge of spite.

"Then you don't know yourself well enough."

That was all that was said. No more words were needed in this place. To one person, it was an awkward kind of quiet. To the other, it was just quiet. With a final look around, they left Vault 3 to its new owner, a thing that would be living undisturbed for years to come.

Silence.


End file.
